


Introspection (Outrospection?)

by Otrera



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean Winchester Bashing, Doppelganger, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Introspection, Queer Themes, Sam Winchester Deserves to be Happy, Sam Winchester Has Mental Health Issues, Sam Winchester Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Sam Winchester Has Self-Worth Issues, Sam Winchester Meets His Doppelganger, Shapeshifter Sam Winchester, Shapeshifting, Suicidal Ideation, Suicidal Sam Winchester, Suicidal Thoughts, sam winchester goes to therapy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-21
Updated: 2019-04-02
Packaged: 2019-11-09 00:52:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17991737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Otrera/pseuds/Otrera
Summary: Usually, he and Dean took breaks between hunts, which is partially why finding his own doppelganger in the diner after a night of killing vampires was so displeasing.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm just gonna let y'all know right now that I have no intentions of updating this with anything resembling consistency. It's not a big WIP, just a plot bunny that's been bouncing around my brain and I needed to do something with it.

Usually, he and Dean took breaks between hunts, which is partially why finding his own doppelganger in the diner after a night of killing vampires was so displeasing. He and Dean exchanged a look before tossing some bills on their table to pay for their food and veering towards the lookalike.

He seemed to deflate at the sight of them, arms crossed, looming over his table. “Guess it had to happen eventually,” he muttered. He rummaged in his wallet for some cash, which he left on the table. He followed Sam and Dean out of the dinner into the alley behind it without resisting whatsoever.

“So what the hell are you?” Dean demanded, shoving him against the wall by his neck. “Shifter? Why the hell'd’you look like Sammy?”

Sam’s doppelganger, again, didn’t try to resist. “I don’t know. I thought I was a shifter, but I don’t have any of my own memories before 2014. Just - Sam’s. That’s all.”

Sam frowned. His lookalike’s voice was monotonous, resigned. It could just have been a result of his and Dean’s reputation among monsters, but something told him that wasn’t the case here.

“Look,” said the guy, sounding exhausted, “do you have a silver blade I could borrow? It’ll make things easier for all of us.”

“Whoa, whoa, hey,” Sam interrupted. “You can’t just kill yourself.”

Other Sam glanced at him, half-sad and half-disappointed. “That’s what you’re going to do anyway; why does it matter?”

“You don’t even know what you are,” said Sam.

“I don’t want to,” said Other Sam at the same time that Sam said, “Let us help you.”

“Oh, no way, Sammy,” snapped Dean. “We are not bringing in another stray for you to fix.”

Sam scowled at him. “Let him go. He’s not a stray, he’s _me_. He said it himself: he has my memories.”

Reluctantly, Dean dragged his hand away from Other Sam’s throat and backed away from the wall.

“Come on,” said Sam. They all got into the Impala and Dean sped his way down the highway.

It was like this: Other Sam didn’t have any of his own memories from before Dean had the Mark of Cain, only Sam’s. Sometime around Dean getting rid of the Mark, Other Sam didn’t really have memories at all. A while after that, Other Sam started getting memories of his own. After that, he’d realized he wasn’t the original Sam and had begun wandering around the US in a nomadic fashion.

“What about Amara?” Sam asked. “Do you remember her?”

“Kind of? Her name sounds familiar. I know she’s God’s sister. I don’t know much else, though.”

“What about Jack?”

Other Sam shook his head. “Who is he?”

Sam worried his lower lip. “It’s… kind of a long story.” He cleared his throat and changed the subject. “When we get back to the bunker, Cas can check you out and find out what you are and what happened to your memories.”

“What’s the bunker?”

Dean frowned at him through the rearview mirror. “I thought you said you remembered up to Amara?”

“Yeah?”

“We found the bunker before that.”

“Oh.” Other Sam sat back in the bench seat and stared at his hands. “Guess I can’t even have amnesia right.”

* * *

 Cas, it turned out, was almost as confused as Sam and Dean. “You feel almost like a shapeshifter, but there is something incredibly different about you. And then there is the matter of your soul.”

“My soul?”

“It is nearly identical to Sam’s,” said Cas. “The original Sam, that is.”

“So, is he a shifter?” Dean asked.

“Yes and no,” said Cas decidedly. “Most likely, you are a mutated version of a shapeshifter which takes the form of other people more deeply than the average shapeshifter.”

“Whoa, hang on,” said Dean. “Since when can monsters _mutate_?”

Cas frowned and tilted his head a bit. “Nearly all creatures evolve, Dean.”

“Great,” said Other Sam, “so I’m like the X-men or - or something. Can I borrow your silver knife now?”

“Wait,” Sam burst out. “I need to talk to you. Alone.”

The guy slumped down in his chair, looking even more depressed than he had in the diner. Sam grabbed him by the elbow and took him into the hallway off the kitchen, near where his room was.

Sam realized he didn’t really know how to start. “So, um, do you have a name, or…?”

Other Sam shrugged. “I just call myself Sam.”

“Okay. So… you’re really me.”

“I guess.” He stared at his feet.

“And all you do is wander around the country?”

“I tried hunting a few times. I don’t know how to do anything else, really, so I thought… but I didn’t know how to get the stuff. Y’know. Weapons, supplies.”

“And you’ve been alone the whole time?”

Other Sam nodded. “Last time I talked to someone who wasn’t a waitress or a - a motel clerk or something, was, uh, Dean, but…” He shrugged. “That wasn't real.”

Sam worried his lower lip. “You’re a person.”

“Not really.”

“But you are,” Sam insisted. “You think, you act, you have a soul. Me and Dean don’t kill people, just monsters.”

“F’you guys let me go, I’ll just kill myself anyway.”

“We won’t let you,” Sam said, even though he could already picture Dean’s reaction to his idea. “Stay in the bunker with us. We can get you help.”

Other Sam laughed. It was a bitter, cynical sound. “Stay here. With the original version of myself and his brother. The brother who I thought was mine for - I have so many memories of -” He broke off and bowed his head, hiding behind his hands and hair. He let out a long, shaky sigh and lifted his head to face Sam again. “I don’t think I can do it.”

“Look, if being around Dean is a problem, I can help you avoid him. I know his schedule.”

Other Sam scuffed his shoes on the floor. “I don’t know.”

“We can help you,” Sam said softly.

They stood in silence for quite a few minutes until finally, Other Sam said, almost inaudibly, “Okay.”

A wave of relief broke over Sam’s head. “Great. Let’s get you a room set up, okay?” He lead them further down the hallway. “I’m in room 21 and Dean’s in 11. Cas is in 15, usually, but sometimes Mom stays there too, and Jack -”

Other Sam stopped him, eyes wide. “Mom?”

“Oh - right, you don’t remember past Amara. So, the thing is…”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for suicide mention (Jack's attempt in s13), Dean's initial treatment of Jack gets addressed
> 
> soooo originally i'd planned to include the first therapy session in this chapter but i felt like publishing a chapter so you'll have to wait until next time

It took a long time, but Real Sam explained everything Sam didn’t know about. He slumped into his chair when Real Sam finished, head swirling with knowledge and questions at the same time. He shook his head as though to clear it and tried to prioritize.

“So Lucifer is dead for good,” he asked, though it didn’t sound like a question.

Real Sam nodded and laughed a little bitterly. “Yeah. Seems to good to be true.”

“Tell me about it,” Sam said, but on the inside he was laughing and crying tears of joy and relief. “And - his son is Jack? And he’s good?”

“He’s very good,” Real Sam rushed to assure him. “After you get, uh, settled in and everything, you can meet him. You’ll like him.”

Sam nodded and decided to think about that later. There was only one more thing he wanted clarification on. “And… Mom’s really alive?”

Real Sam smiled. “Yeah.”

Sam unconsciously lowered his voice to a whisper. “Is she everything we hoped she’d be?”

“Everything and more.”

Sam covered his face with his hands and tried not to cry. He knew she wasn’t really his mother, knew almost none of his memories were real, but for once he let himself forget that.

When he finally pulled himself together, Real Sam stood up and said, “So, make yourself at home. If you get lost, uh, shout for one of us and we’ll help you out. Dinner’s at six, if you wanna come.”

He turned around and walked out the door, leaving Sam alone in his blank new room.

The first thing Sam did was seek out Castiel.

“Sam,” Castiel greeted him warmly.

“I’m not the real one,” Sam warned him.

“I know.”

“Uh, okay.” He swallowed nervously. “So, I was wondering if there was a way for you to find my real memories. The ones from before I shifted into… Sam.”

Cas frowned. “I can try.”

“I would greatly appreciate it.”

Cas positioned each of his palms delicately next to Sam’s temples. “May I?”

Unable to speak, Sam nodded. Cas closed the distance between his hands and Sam’s head. As soon as he did, images of Sam’s life began flashing behind his eyes at top speed, from childhood to college to Lucifer to Gadreel to -

Cas let go of him and Sam collapsed to the ground, gasping.

“Sam!”

Cas’ hands fluttered around Sam’s body, like a mother trying to figure out where her child had hurt themself.

“M’fine,” Sam wheezed. “Did it work?”

“I did not find any memories that were originally your own,” he said, “aside from those of your years as a nomad.”

Sam’s heart sank, but he rose and dusted off his knees. “Thanks for trying, anyway.”

“You may want to check the library,” said Castiel. “It holds a wealth of information on a wide variety of subjects.

Sam ambled into the library and found Real Sam was already there, sitting at one of the tables and talking on his phone.

“I’ll ask him about - oh, hey, he’s right here.” Real Sam held the bottom of his phone slightly away from his face and covered it with his hand. “Hey, I was just talking to Jody about this therapist she knows. She knows about the supernatural and all that, and Jody thinks she’d be willing to help you out. As long as you’re comfortable with it.”

Sam wilted helplessly inside. He shrugged, and, resigned, said, “I guess.”

Real Sam brightened. “Cool! I’ll call and set you up an appointment - do you want to wait until you get settled in, or -?”

“No,” said Sam. “Let’s just get it over with as soon as possible.”

Real Sam frowned. “If you don’t want to -”

“No, I do,” he lied. “Promise.”

Real Sam didn’t necessarily seem convinced, but he said, “I’ll try to set up an appointment for tomorrow,” and went back to his phone call with Jody.

* * *

 Sam wandered into the kitchen some time that night. He didn’t know what time it was - wouldn’t even know that it was night if it weren’t for the fact that Real Sam and Dean were sound asleep. Sam had avoided dinner in order to avoid Dean, a tactic his stomach now resented. He’d planned to just swipe something from the fridge, but there was already someone else doing exactly that.

“You’re Jack,” he surmised.

Jack spun around, nearly dropping the milk jug in surprise. His eyebrows furrowed as he looked Sam up and down, trying to make heads or tails of him. Sam figured looking at his soul was probably something of an uncanny valley for people who knew Real Sam.

“You’re Sam,” said Jack. “Sam and Castiel told me about you.” He opened his mouth, floundered for a second, and closed it again. He put the milk on the counter next to a cereal box and a bowl. “Do you want some Krunch Cookie Crunch?”

“Sure,” said Sam.

Jack grabbed a second bowl from the cabinet and poured them both some cereal and milk. They sat across from each other at the table.

“So you’re Lucifer’s son.” And maybe he shouldn’t have said that so bluntly, or brought it up so abruptly, but Sam wasn’t sure he cared anymore.

“Technically, but I chose Castiel as my father before I was born. And now Castiel, Sam _and_ Dean are all my fathers.” He beamed.

Sam couldn’t help jolting slightly when Jack called Real Sam his father.

“Do they know you think that?”

Jack frowned. “Well… I’ve never told Sam and Dean out loud, but they have to know.” His frown deepened. “Maybe I should make sure Dean knows I’m not mad at him.”

“Mad at him?” Sam echoed.

“He tried to kill me when I was born. But then I brought Castiel back to life, so everything is okay now!”

Sam couldn’t hide his alarm. “He tried to kill you? Before or after he knew you weren’t evil?”

Jack hesitated. “He… he thought I was evil until I brought Castiel back. So… before.”

Sam was aghast. “And I - Real Sam let him?”

“Sam didn’t know. And Dean didn’t _really_ try to kill me, he just said he would if I didn’t.”

“Jack did you -” the words were sticky on his tongue “- did you try to kill yourself?”

“Yeah. I wasn’t supposed to hear, but Sam said you tried to kill yourself, too.”

“I didn’t. But I thought about it. Jack, does Real Sam know what Dean did?”

Jack shook his head.

Sam bit his lip. “You should… you should talk to him about it. Or to Castiel. Or _someone_. What Dean did was not okay.”

“Did you talk to anyone?”

“I’m going to,” Sam said. “Tomorrow.” Even though he had very little faith that any therapist would be able to help him - that any therapist _should_ help him.

“We should make a deal,” said Jack. “I’ll talk to someone and you’ll talk to someone.”

He held out his hand.

“Okay,” said Sam, and they shook on it.


End file.
